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April 13, 2017

I'm posting this on my birthday, in the hopes that this year will be more successful than the last....IN THE COMPANY OF WOMEN: Inspiration and Advice from over 100 Makers, Artists, and Entrepreneurs is a très interesting book of interviews. The founder of Design Sponge, Grace Bonney, asks this diverse group of inspiring women a series of questions describing their creative paths.

A book like this, with artists answering the same questions over and over, makes me imagine how I would answer the questions myself. It's only natural to make those comparisons. I won't bore you with the details, but what I want to talk about is the one question I was stuck on.

What does success mean to you?
This is, of course, a completely subjective thing but don't you find the very notion of success a bit fleeting? It seems to change with the times, at least for me. When I was young I thought fame and fortune played a big part. Recognition, accolades, raising a family, being a good person. But any one of those things just by themselves has never really done it for me. I've thought about it a lot.

When I read Ping Zhu's reply, that "when things are harmonious, even for a moment, I try to savor it",

Paul Klee, New Harmony, 1936

I realized that was it! That was the answer I was looking for. Success is not a concrete thing after all, it's a moment when everything is working together in perfect harmony. And if that's true, then there's the possibility for moments of great success every single day in everything we do!

I recently watched an episode of Chef's Table on Netflix. I can't say enough about this series, I absolutely love it. This one was about the Korean Buddhist nun Jeong Kwon.
Jeong Kwon used the word orchestra to illustrate the kind of unifying harmony where everything is working together. She was referring to nature and her place in it, but it's indicative of her all-inclusive philosophy about her food, her means of expressing her life, and her gratitude. Even more interesting was Ms. Kwon's notion that that very harmony was what she considered true freedom.

Hmmm.
I love this idea that maybe what success really means is true freedom. A freedom almost like a weightlessness, where all the elements are equally balanced, where nothing is too heavy or too light, nothing unnecessary or out of place, no interference, no mistakes. Even if it's just for a brief moment.

It's so simple isn't it? True freedom, true success, is the ability to get past our own selves, our own disappointments and desires. To not be burdened with expectations but to allow things to fall into place. I think the more we get away from the idea that we are the center of the universe, that life should wait for us, should adhere to our every want and whim, the closer we'll get to feeling at peace with ourselves and the things around us. Everything has a place and a purpose if we choose to see it that way. If we get out of our own way, perfect harmony can be happening all around us.

March 24, 2017

Last week feels like it flew by and I got nothing done, but as I sit here I can honestly see how "busy" is such a relative term.

I haven't been in my studio since I moved, making it two whole months I haven't painted, so it means something, that I at least prepared for 5 new paintings this week. I also cooked a week's worth of family dinners from scratch, which again might not seem very interesting except that I recently became a vegan, so it makes it more of an accomplishment. I donated a drawing to Planned Parenthood, finalized the Beacon Open Studios catalog, which I've been working on for two months, submitted work for the Dorsky Museum, and applied for twelve full time jobs. Actually thirteen if you count friendly inquiries that don't include cover letters and resumes. Oh, and I learned how to write a cover letter, which I had no clue how to do. I have been self-employed for a long time! Turns out I haven't had a boss since 1998.

Apparently I've been working hard on the less is more approach to life. Take for instance becoming a vegan. I thought it would be close to impossible to eliminate that many food groups and still be satisfied, but what I discovered is that eliminating choices has actually given me more freedom somehow. Limitation creates innovation. When you have less, you can focus more on the things you do have. Less choices populating your brain equals more space to ruminate.

Does that make sense?

Like when the designers for the Ford car company come out and say that the recent automobile regulations are what forced the forward thinking responses that led to their significant technological advancements... you start to think, well, maybe some limitations aren't so bad.

I've been trying to limit my color choices in my painting for years. I just know that limiting my palette will give me more freedom, yet every time I get down to it I start mixing more and more colors, more and more.

So now I'm reconciling this idea of getting a full time job with the hope that less time in my studio will somehow make it more precious and more productive.

not such a great photo of an old painting of mine

I watched a movie the other night, the one with Robert De Niro who plays the trainer for the boxer Roberto Duran. I never would've thought boxing was like painting but it absolutely is. The trainer kept telling the boxer -

It's all in your head. It's all psychological. If the opponent gets inside your head you're dead. It's about strategy and longevity. Stay focused and you win.

I mean, this is no joke. When Duran walked out of the ring in the middle of the fight with Sugar Ray Leonard, you really understood what a test of willpower it was. Not to be overly dramatic, but it's exactly the same with making art, except that the opponent is you. Actually, the trainer, the fighter, and the opponent... all you.

It's no light thing when you decide to walk out of the ring in the middle of a fight.
Hopefully that's not what I'm about to be doing. This "change is good" motto and trying new things out, well, we soon shall see just how far it takes me!

February 21, 2017

There's something très depressing about the amount of back breaking work it takes to move two and a half year's worth of paintings, just to store them in obscurity.

Moving always makes me feel like this...

It makes me painfully aware of how attached I am to these canvases, while also realizing how fragile and meaningless these things really are. After all, a painting is nothing more than some paint on a piece of fabric, and a drawing sometimes is nothing more than a doodle. Someone says it's special, puts it on a pedestal, proclaims its genius and all of a sudden it becomes something else entirely. It's so bizarre when you stop to think about it.

So, yeah, I had my little cry moment. It'll take some getting used to, but I'm already starting to feel better about it. Who knows, this could be the greatest thing ever. Last night some new friends came to visit me. What a lovely sight to see outside my window four deer quietly walking in the snow. It made me think how nice it will be to look out into the woods and the mountain from now on.

So I guess change will be good after all. Who knows what great artwork is about to get made.

Deer, the woods, the mountain... I'd say a much better view than that way-too-blue house and ugly duplex!

By the way, my white couch is still white! So much for everyone who thought moving it to the studio would be a disaster, including me. I just washed that slipcover again
and I must say, this 16 year old IKEA beauty may just be the best $500
I've ever spent. Totally indestructible!

the last paintings I was working on. soon to be worked on some more

yup, the last things to get packed. the essentials: music, toilet paper and my flask of vodka

that sign didn't really work but I'm leaving it for the next tenant anyway

January 26, 2017

This January it feels more like a brand new year than almost any other year I can remember.

Major shifts in thinking are taking place at every level; individually, nationally, globally. Change isn't coming, it's here. And for anyone who's ever wished or rallied for change, be prepared, because it's never easy or quick or painless. My father used to say "struggle is good" with the conviction that nothing earned easily was worth earning, and that without the struggle, it could never be truly cherished or appreciated (whatever the it in your life might be). With that thought in mind I feel somewhat optimistic, in spite of the challenges that artists, women and the general American population are about to face.

This has been a January of change for me as well. A newer new year than usual!

I was pleased to participate in a Small Works show at the Catalyst Gallery here in Beacon, and even more pleased to have sold several drawings and a watercolor.

sold pastel drawing, 11 x 14 inches

This Saturday I'll be participating in another group show in Newburgh, and there is a possibility for a solo show of my paintings coming up this June, which I'll keep you posted on.

Last but not least, I'm super excited to have just become the new Director of Beacon Open Studios, a yearly event where Beacon artists open up their studios to the public. It's a huge weekend long, city-wide celebration sponsored by the artists and community members of Beacon, and enjoyed by thousands of visitors from all over. I'm thrilled to have volunteered, but it really is a huge job organizing it all. The irony is that I'm giving up my studio right before this event and will have to look for a temporary space to show my work!

Did I mention struggle is good!

My hope (and I am hopeful), is that you all are able to not just endure the new changes in your own lives, but relish them, because the reward for your perseverance is great!

My Facebook post this morning was this:

Think Big! because from one fallen dying leaf a whole brand new plant can grow

December 23, 2016

This morning I came across a review of the book The Gorgeous Nothings, whichhighlights Emily Dickinson's Envelope Poems. I was immediately reminded of the Envelope Paintings of my Facebook friend and artist Julia Schwartz, so I thought I'd share.

If I could curate a show with all of these lovely pieces side by side I would! Here is the full article which was posted by Tupelo Quarterly and written by Hannah Star Rogers. Sounds like a good idea for a last minute Christmas gift too!

Emily Dickinson’s The Gorgeous Nothings offers an incredible
inquiry into the material practice of Emily Dickinson’s poetry and an
argument for why we should take not just the visual culture of poetry
into account, as so many new editions of Dickinson’s poetry do, but also
the materiality—as both constraint and possibility.The Gorgeous Nothings, from Christine Burgin/New Directions,
edited by Marta Werner and Jen Bervin with a preface by Susan Howe, is
the first publication of Emily Dickinson’s complete envelope writings in
facsimile from her visually-oriented manuscripts, rendered here in full
color and arranged as if they were pressed into a scrapbook. The book
is no doubt the dream of poetry and visual culture scholars (very
literally as it took Werner, a Dickinson scholar, and Bervin, a visual
artist, to bring the book together), but beyond important academic
contributions, this book is a lot of fun to open and toss through as
though it was a box of Grandmother’s letters—if your grandmother was the
Belle of Amherst.
The editors made great choices that allow us these pleasures: the
facsimiles are collected together in such a way that we can enjoy the
puzzle. The book replicates the material experience of opening an
archive, while the shape of the envelope and text is detailed for
legibility in schematics that reflect the envelopes’ shape and
dimensions. A 252 gives us a sense of the Dickson we recognize, while
adding an the extra layer of the material constraints of the envelope:
What is added by knowing that Dickson met the corner of the page with
the word “power,” and arranged her lines to fill the space, gives us a
new sense of the space that the poem occupies and of her agility in
working not only in acoustic constraints and vital rhythms, but also in
another layer of formal concerns. Even a glance at the forms of the
envelopes tells the reader something magical is happening in the details
of the poems:
Dickinson’s work has been unfolding for us slowly, revealing her
mastery in new ways. First, as Howe writes in the preface, in the 1951
Johnson edition with those characteristic amazing capitals and dashes,
then with the word lists of alternate possibilities, and finally, here,
with the full materiality of her envelope letters. Maybe it is only now
that the reading world is ready to embrace the found and the forgotten
in this work, that we are really ready to revel in the glory of the
envelope poems. Our own material turn is making these artworks no longer
something difficult or illegible, but a celebration of the parts of her
poetry that only words not born in typeface can offer.
What may not be immediately legible in the material constraints
surely informed the publication choices regarding what parts of the
manuscripts would be preserved. These acts of legitimation may have been
a part of creating the Emily Dickinson legacy. Perhaps “scraps” (the
Dickinson community’s easy reference word for these poems) did not a
major poet make, particularly if they came from a woman who largely
wrote for herself. In any case, the poetry universe is certainly ready
for a revised visual understand of Dickinson’s work that this text
brings us.
Yet another wrinkle in the story of why this is the moment for
considering the material elements of these poems may be the digitization
project at Amherst College’s Archives & Special Collections, which
preceded this edition. Poets (and indeed humanists more generally) are
being asked often to account for the effects of technology on their
work. In this case, the appearance of Dickinson’s work in a digital form
precedes an important account of new dimensions of her poetry. Rather
than simply spreading copies of her work more broadly, as in so many
digital humanities projects, a real discovery and novel way of thinking
of Dickinson’s work has been revealed by its digitization. Of course, it
has long been possible to imagine an exhibit (as Howe does) or color
copies of these poems being created for a book, but the ease and
availability of scanning may have given both affordance and occasion to
study the material aspects of this work.
Bervin’s essay also leads us toward a new image of Dickinson. Rather
than a poet grabbing at envelopes when she was struck by inspiration,
Bervin calls our attention to the variety of ways the envelops are
folded and cut, suggesting that the poet had prepared these envelops in
advance for the moment when an inspiration struck. Her lines flow across
surfaces that we perceive only by her attention to them: stops at
corners or folds and changes in handwriting and letter size to
accommodate her poems to the space the material alots, while
transforming the envelope to make spaces for words which readers might
not see without the poet filing them. This preparation points not just
to thrift, but to how Dickinson perceived her poems as objects rendered
with care, what Howe calls, “visual productions.”
This curation of the envelope poems reveals the way the poet turned
the borders of the envelopes that she cut and tore into shapes to write
on into constraints to complicate her poems: making them fascinating
visual objects. Like metrics, rhythms, and rhymes which structure as
they aestheticize, Dickinson’s envelope offered her a new method for
inspiration. The folds and corners of her thrifty paper uses create new
layer of self-imposed limitation which generated new possibilities for
the poem. The Gorgeous Nothings is proof that one of our most important poets can still amaze and teach us new thing about the practice of poetry.

November 20, 2016

So, this happened today. My favorite and most useful tool suddenly gave out on me. I can't even remember how many years I've had it or how many palette knives I've purchased since (that were never half as good), but it's been a constant in my painting life for... like... ever....
Blah, so much for reliability.

Anyhow, in other pragmatic news today.
Do you ever have one of those moments in the studio when you realize you're standing way too far, like three feet away from your painting wall and you're thinking why can't I see what the hell I'm doing??

"It seems to me now, with greater reflection, that the value of
experiencing another person’s art is not merely the work itself, but the
opportunity it presents to connect with the interior impulse of
another. The arts occupy a vanishing space in modern life: They offer
one of the last lingering places to seek out empathy for its own sake,
and to the extent that an artist’s work is frustrating or difficult or
awful, you could say this allows greater opportunity to try to meet it. I
am not saying there is no room for discriminating taste and judgment,
just that there is also, I think, this other portal through which to
experience creative work and to access a different kind of beauty, which
might be called communion."

November 16, 2016

Ah the simple pleasures of painting. All those gorgeous painterly brushstrokes! You feel and see her every movement on these canvases. When you stand in front of a Susan Rothenberg painting you become a witness to her very personal viewpoint, making it an experience rather than just a painting. She sets a stage for you to feel you are a participant in.

Rothenberg begins with negation, cleaving away all that’s inessential,
then reaches forward and backward in time, gathering whatever she needs,
probing inward toward formalism and outward toward experience, one hand
in the clay and the other in the air.

In a career that spans over 40 years, expectedly there are some paintings I am much more in love with than others so here I present some of my absolute favorites...

Dogs Killing Rabbit, 1991-92, oil on canvas, 87 x 141 inches

"A lot of my work is about melodrama. I wait for Bruce to fall off a
horse and then I go, 'Oh, okay, the horse’s legs were there, the fence
post was there, his hat flew off there...'"

"It is six A.M., and I am working. I am absent-minded, reckless, heedless of social obligations, etc...The tire goes flat, the tooth falls out, there will be a hundred meals without mustard. The poem gets written... I have no shame. Neither do I have guilt. My responsibility is not to the ordinary, or the timely. It does not include mustard, or teeth. It does not extend to the lost button, or the beans in the pot. My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive."Excerpt from Mary Oliver's essay Of Power And Time